


Blooming

by vetiverbitters



Series: The Saint and the Dragon [5]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Conversations, Bardlings - Freeform, Barduil - Freeform, Cats, Couch, Feelings, M/M, Model!Thranduil, Otp: Barrel of Laughs, Photographer!Bard, Sexual Content, Surprise Arrival, Texting, kitchen, shower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-17 11:36:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3527939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vetiverbitters/pseuds/vetiverbitters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow-up to Overexposure.</p><p>With the siege over, it's no-holds-barred for feasting, sharing, feeding cravings. Thranduil grows more scintillating in Bard's eyes, and Bard more addictive in Thranduil's. Additionally, those around them are taking notice -- or just finding out, as it were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blooming

**Author's Note:**

>   
> _I want to reconcile the violence in your heart_  
>  _I want to recognize your beauty is not just a mask,_  
>  _I want to exorcise the demons from your past,_  
>  _I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart..._  
>  \- Undisclosed Desires, Muse

**[ Sunday ]**

"The water's starting to get co-- _ohdamnBard_..."

A grasping hand, with wider knuckles and thicker fingers, caught the knob and turned it off, then returned to its original perch along the curve of Thranduil's bottom, squeezing and spreading the shivering model open for the continuous curling and prodding of Bard's tongue against the blond's opening, soothing and setting sore nerves ablaze in each wet lap. Yesterday, the gentle teasing had stoked the smoke unraveling in his blood as the photographer prepared him; today, he could come from this alone, still in shambles and vulnerable to the other man's kind but ruthless focus. He'd be done for sooner if Bard's other hand didn't stop its evil stroking of water-soaked fingertips against the underside of his cock. It wasn't nearly enough friction to satisfy, but it tightened the notches of his spine all the same, building pressure at the base of it that spread down to his toes in slow waves.

Bard's intimate kiss grew more insistent in reaction to the increased stutter of the model's hips rocking back into the attentions of his tongue, drawing muffled groans to counterpoint Thranduil's low pants that he unsuccesfully attempted to stifle against the tiles. The fever pitch of the shaking man's pleasure only echoed louder in the absence of water falling to drown it.

" _Bard!_ "

Thranduil's muscles twitched under flushed skin as orgasm pulled at his middle and sucked out his breath in throbbing, molten pulses that spiked hard with the prickle of the brunet's stubble rubbing against the apex of his thighs. Who would have thought beard burn would feel so satisfying? The blond trembled and clawed at his middle with one hand in the aftershocks of his release, as if he could touch the cocktail of endorphins running rampant inside him and hold the feeling a little longer, but it faded into the rush of the his blood, leaving Thranduil to hold on to the faucet knobs while Bard's body at his back kept him from gracelessly sinking to the floor of the shower.

"Christ," Bard swore softly, forehead pressed against the back of a thigh, pressing a soundless kiss against the lean flesh, "you're murder on my refractory period, you know." Between his legs, Bard had grown half-hard while he brought Thranduil to the edge, despite his own recent climax, wrested from him by the blond's greedy, worshipful mouth. God, he looked exquisite with his mouth full and blue eyes wide open, bobbing and coaxing until there was nothing left to give. He could fly close to that brilliance until it melted his wings and relish the fall back to earth, if it meant he could bask in the fullness of Thranduil's gaze eating him alive.

"And you're murder on my self-control," the blond shot back in a ragged purr he let out against the forearm he rested his forehead against. "I'll consider us even when you help me get back to bed and spoon this wretched cold out of me."

"Saucy bugger."

Bard's rich, rumbling laugh wrapped around like velvet over him, igniting warmth high on his cheeks.

* * *

  **[from Tauriel; 15:56] i'm back in ldn and u don't call to ask how paris went. so rude. caras @ 6 for tea?**

**[to Tauriel; 16:02] Make it 6:30 and I'll ask you whatever you want. Welcome back, my apologies for not sending a marching band to the airport. Did not want to startle your manbaby.**

**[from Tauriel; 16:07] ha bloody ha. btw, have you seen st sexy yet?**

**[to Tauriel; 16:13] He's why we're meeting at 6:30 instead. Do not blow up my phone upon reading this message, I will not answer. See you at Caras. xo**

**[from Tauriel; 16:14] OMG DID HE SLAY YOU**

**[from Tauriel; 16:15] tell mE**

**[from Tauriel; 16:17] fine expect the spanish inquisition when i see you**

The poop emojis didn't take long to arrive after that.

"She's going to be impossible, isn't she?" Thranduil murmured against Galion's silken, blue-grey fur as the cat burrowed his face in the crook of Thranduil's neck, purring loud encouragements to the hand scratching between its ears. Thranduil's other hand absently petted a sleeping Gimli, snoring away the afternoon on the blond's stomach. Comfortably sprawled on the chaise longue by the balcony doors with the company of his furry creatures, the model let himself doze off despite the buzzing of his phone on the floor beside him. 

**[from St. Bard; 16:39] movie on tues. night, my place? film of your choice if you're concerned i may put on something carbon-dated and bore you to tears. dinner too?**

**[ Tuesday ]**  

"I still can't believe you brought bloody _Poltergeist_ to watch," Bard commented around the mouthful of dairy-free coconut ice cream Thranduil held against his lips, savoring the shivers that broke across overheated skin as he let the cool, creamy treat melt on his tongue. The vibrations of deep laughter in Thranduil's chest permeated across Bard's back, drowsy and sensual on damp skin. After scrambling to keep himself from spilling off the couch under the fervor of the blond's unraveling of him, it felt nice to rest solidly on the seat cushions, cradled between strong, mile-long legs and the drape of an arm across his waist. The brunet closed his eyes and pillowed his head against the crook of Thranduil's neck, content to just listen to their breathing and the scrape of the spoon against the inside of the carton as the blond continued eating away at the ice cream. For someone in a profession so characterized by eating disorders and calorie obsessions, Thranduil's guiltless indulgence in food and drink was both endearing and enviable -- maybe the gorgeous bastard was onto something with his veggie sorcery, after all.

"Maybe I like it when you hold on to me in the dark," came the sultry molasses of the model's voice like a caress to the shell of his ear. The languorous caress of the blond's toes along the half-moon groove of his right ankle drew a contented sound from Bard's throat. "You don't have to resort to creepy flicks for that, luv. I'll let you protect me from the monsters if you just ask." 

"And who will protect you from me?" Thranduil dragged the chilly edge of the spoon across Bard's hips, enjoying the press of the brunet's shapely arse against his spent length as he shivered in the model's hold. Bard's fingers retaliated with the ticklish rake of fingernails over the backs of Thranduil's knees. Bard rocked his hips back again when Thranduil hissed his name into the sliver of space between their faces. "You haunting me, I can handle," Bard chuckled, lazily seeking a kiss from obliging lips. "I just have to be ready for spontaneous possessions."

Fuck, he could stay here for ages, wrapped in the blond's unguarded laugh and the playful brush of toes against the arches of his feet. "You can keep bringing your scary movies, but only if you're spending the night, yeah?"

"Are you actually creeped out?" The blond didn't even try to tamp down on his snickering, but he did brush a lingering kiss to the photographer's temple and held him tighter.

"Don't laugh, you bastard," the brunet huffed, but unable to keep from joining in Thranduil's mirth, "sometimes Jack would get flashbacks or something and he'd get shifty-eyed and stare at things that weren't there, or he'd go quiet and try to listen for noises I could never hear. It was really unnerving." Bard wiggled himself onto his stomach to bury his face under the blond's chin, breathing in the faint scent of sandalwood and sweat mixing with the smell of coconut milk. Bard's arms loosely snaked around Thranduil's frame, hands sliding up and down the model's sides appreciatively, mapping the angles and subtle curves of ribs and hips. The spoon returned to set his skin to prickle, but Bard didn't shy away from the ticklish caress, letting the model trace lazy, looping spirals over the valley between his shoulders, then down his spine and back up again. It was eventually replaced by long fingers skating upwards to twirl into messy tangles of lustrous brown. "I still get weirded out when the floorboards creak or the sink gurgles in the middle of the night."

"You can curl up on my lap and peek through your fingers when I bring along the sequels, then." Thranduil kissed his temple again. The repeated affection, unfamiliar but exhilarating, thrilled in Bard's chest, close enough to his throat to give birth to a contented sigh. Bard returned the tender gesture with a trail of butterfly kisses of his own along Thranduil's clavicles, drawing a pleased hum from the taller man. 

"Mmm, heathens _can_ be heroes, after all." 

"We can also be scoundrels."

Thranduil's fingers found him loose and still slick with lube, teasing his rim with shallow prods that soon reduced Bard's body to clenching in renewed anticipation, to lifting his hips and pressing back against the drawn-out intrusion. Hungers stirring once more, the brunet mouthed wetly at his lover's throat, breaths becoming more ragged with the divine pressure of Thranduil's fingers curling and rubbing insistent little circles over his prostate, both a promise and a threat of ruination. Bard's struggling breaths gave way to a shaky, pleasure-drunk cry against Thranduil's jaw as two fingers gave way to a third that his muscles fluttered around all too eagerly, missing the fullness of the blond already. "Don't t-- _godyes_... don't tell the Pope I'm communing with spirits," Bard panted in Thranduil's ear, purposely nibbling and sighing against the sensitive lobe until Thranduil's breath matched his own in a convoluted, irregular rhythm, the blond's fingers pushing deeper, ratcheting up the heat and pleasure with their coaxing, the rising demand. In the spirit of blissful reciprocity, the brunet took Thranduil in hand and stroked them both in time to the blond's hands working him open, lapping up Thranduil's bitten-off sounds of unfurling ecstasy right out of his mouth.

"I won't tell if you won't."

**[ Wednesday ]**

 

On the fourth ring, Thranduil answered the call, fitting his mobile between his shoulder and ear while pouring himself a cup of tea. "Yes, Hal?"

"Il faut que tu te lèves. I need you at the office today." There was a rustle of paper, maybe fabric in the background on Haldir's end of the line, punctuated by a mutter of 'merde' and a thud. "And try not to be a sourpuss about having to be here, please and thank you. I'm sending the driver to pick you up."

"Don't send the driver," the blond replied between sips of the steaming liquid. "I'll be there at nine." Having to brave central London was always the worst part of going to Haldir's office at the agency, but already in the belly of the beast, getting to the office from Bard's should not take more than fifteen minutes. The line was silent for several seconds; even the sounds of movement on the other end had gone quiet.

"Why shouldn't I send the driver?" The other man's tone held more suspicion than concern, probably having extrapolated correctly already, but that didn't mean the model had to acknowledge the possibility. "I'm already in the vicinity." More seconds of silence followed, broken by a tone just this side of too casual. "It's rather early for you to be up and about, let alone in the vicinity without whining." Fishing like that only worked when there was some sort of booze flowing. 

"My tea's getting cold," Thranduil chuckled into the receiver, rolling his eyes as he took hold of his mobile with his hand once again. "I'll see you at the office." 

With the call ended, the blond wandered through Bard's living room and picked out one of the vinyls from the bookcase, placing it on the player and setting the needle down to play it. The greatest jazz record ever, Bard had called this particular Coltrane album a couple of nights before while on the phone, as Thranduil picked up some fruits and more flaxseed from the health store. The saxophone counterpointing the piano and snare drums was pretty melodious and seductive, the blond had to admit, and it filled the open expanse of the living room with a muted energy that seeped into Thranduil's body, left him swaying to the tune. It was barely half past seven; if Bard was up and amenable to the idea, they could grab a shower together before Thranduil had to go.

With his cup in hand (and a newly poured one for his host), the model sauntered into the bedroom and sat next to the sleeping man on the edge of the mattress, calling him to wakefulness with a low murmur of his name.

* * *

"Who's that?" the blond pointed at the black-and-white portrait of a young woman among the patchwork constellation of frames hanging artfully from the vaulted ceiling of Bard's living room. He'd spied the impressive array of photographs before, but he'd been too quickly distracted to examine each frame at the time. The wispy bob she wore her brown hair in gave her heart-shaped face a pixie-like appearance. She was a pretty face among a sea of frozen strangers on Bard's walls, but alive in their smiles, their eyes. There was so much he'd already learned from the open book that was Bard, and yet he did not know who all these people were, what they meant to him, why they hung in his lover's shrine to memory. The thought sat odd and heavy on his head and shoulders, and Bard's embrace behind him, while soothing, did little to dissipate the strangeness that brewed at the back of his mind. "I saw those children, in your darkroom. Who are they?"

"That's Rhi," Bard gestured toward the photograph of the girl that Thranduil had initially inquired about. Across the expanse of the collage, Bard pointed out the woman in other photographs as well: Rhi and a green-eyed boy laying on their bellies reading magazines; Rhi and an older man eating cotton candy on the steps of a porch; Rhi, the older man, and an older woman with dark eyes and a high forehead sitting on the grass, looking up at clouds; her and the green-eyed boy and the man, water-soaked and clinging in a row to the edge of a pool; her and the three children he'd seen before, a boy and a girl clinging to her legs, while she held a pudgy-faced infant in her arms. "That's Jack's daughter. We grew up together," the brunet explained in a fond whisper, nuzzling into Thranduil's freshly washed hair and pressing lingering kisses behind his ear. "Best mates since, well, ever, and that's her brood. Bain," he pointed at the wide-eyed boy, "Sigrid, the eldest," he pointed at the slender-limbed girl with the light hair and the flowery sundress, "and Tilda, the youngest." That baby had the mother's round nose and expressive eyes. Something unnameable in Thranduil's chest expanded into a straining fullness, buoyed by the affectionate inflection in the other man's voice as he spoke those names and pointed back and forth across the hanging tableau. 

"They mean a lot to you." The questions the model wanted to ask stuck to the roof of his mouth, leaving the quiet observation to float away from his lips like a balloon at the mercy of the winds. Bard's kisses stilled, but his arms tightened around Thranduil's waist and his face remained half-hidden in wet cornsilk. "They're family," Bard began after a long pause, his voice a scrap of sound warming Thranduil's temple. "They mean the world to me." The blond recognized the brand of softness in Bard's voice as the same edge of vulnerability that his most guarded thoughts of his family took at the thought of divulging them. The unfolding silence tasted of one too many lumps of sugar in lukewarm tea, in the wake of no elaborations provided, no funny anecdotes shared. He could ask about the Girions another day, when there was more time to ask and listen, and less of the lingering weight just under the hollow of his throat. Bard's hands on Thranduil's middle interlocked fingers with the blond's when the man reached for them. They were lucky to have Bard's love like that, so full and brimming with adoration, with a gratitude that was almost as fierce as it felt boundless. 

"Haldir wants me at the office soon." The model was loathe to shatter the delicate moment, but despite it being spun out of their breaths and soft touches, it was heavy and he knew not how to breathe through the nagging urge to imagine what his own photograph would look like as part of Bard's collage. 

"Are we still on for Friday at your place?" the brunet lifted damp hair in his fist and planted stubble-roughened kisses along the blond's nape that left shivers running under his skin. Thranduil's head tilted forward, as if wilting, offering skin willing to absorb the comfort of those kisses. The model nodded with eyes closed, still holding one of Bard's hands in his and making no move to get dressed and leave. The other man seemed just as content to stay where he was, letting his mouth roam the slope of Thranduil's neck and shoulders. 

"You have to try the food at Caras, so we'll eat there, and then come back to mine to introduce you to _Luther_ because I still can't believe you've never watched it." 

"Is there any part of Friday night you haven't already decided?" Bard buried his laugh in Thranduil's hair, nosing into the warmth behind one of the blond's sensitive ears. The model smirked, unseen by the brunet.

"Whose hands are getting tied to the headboard after the programme."

**[ Friday ]**

" _How_?!" 

Bard's sounds of satisfaction and disbelief were only more endearing with his mouth full of his barbecue tempeh and sweet potato sandwich. The blond had long since given up on eating his own food, in favor of watching the brunet's hilarious quandary unfold, complete with a speck of sauce on the corner of his mouth and darting green eyes taking in their meals and surroundings. Thranduil drowned wave after wave of laughter in the fragrant sweetness of his _shaah_ , holding the cup to his lips to hide the smile he couldn't wipe away. It wouldn't do very well for certain people to see him looking too happy, or he was never going to live down their cooing and teasing. Fucking Galadriel had noticed, it seemed, as she was approaching their corner booth with that unbearably beatific, knowing smile of hers. Under the gaze of the cafe's owner, the model wilted slightly, feeling color rise to his cheeks, but Bard's animated compliments about the interior decor and the magical quality of the fare kept his mouth paralyzed in a grin.

"Well," Thranduil articulated slowly, putting his cup down on the saucer and straightening up in his chair. "Why don't you ask our hostess about her culinary sorcery yourself?" Reaching out to wipe the sauce from Bard's mouth would have proven too intimate in front of the grinning hawk of a woman standing by their table; instead, he let the bright red smudge remain in place, deciding it added to the photographer's clueless charm. Thranduil could see Galadriel had noticed it too, but she was kind enough not to mention it, instead turning her otherworldly charm on Bard and graciously soaking up the photographer's praise. 

"And what is your name? I don't believe I have seen you come in before," Galadriel directed the question to Bard, but her eyes shifted in Thranduil's direction for a brief moment, only to be gone with their wordless questions and focus their attention on the flustered brunet. "Bard, m'lady," the other man replied, regaling Galadriel with a smile that split his mouth into teeth and dimples and made the blond hungry, but not for food. How could someone look so stupid and so beautiful at the same time? "Very glad to meet you."

"My lady?" Galadriel's soft exhale of air curled into a delicate laugh behind a small white hand. "Thranduil, darling, where did you find your friend?" The blush on Bard's cheeks darkened and he fussed with his napkin, wiping crumbs away from his fingers and then his mouth. Farewell, little speck of sadistic joy.

"In a period romance, apparently."

"Hey!"

Galadriel's breezy giggle chimed warmly, not at all mocking. She could have been just as sweet and pleasant without putting her hand on Bard's shoulder, though. Thranduil's wish to replace her hand with his own came, but did not leave, even after her hand was no longer on the photographer. "Bard, my good sir," she bowed her head in playful deference, "it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'll have some dessert brought to you, brave knights -- on the house, of course." Just before she turned to leave, her hand came to rest on Thranduil's shoulder, squeezing briefly and offering the model a subtler smile. "And you, bring him by more often. His enthusiasm is refreshing." Once Galadriel had finally taken her leave, Bard leaned across the table in a dismally concealed attempt at subtlety. "Where did she come from? She's, like, perfect. And this place... Christ, I mean, it feels like I'm in a different world right now." Watching Bard's eyes follow the vine-like spread of tiny purple and green bulbs on the walls and window frames felt a lot like those Christmas mornings spent watching Legolas play with toy boxes and gift wrap while the presents lay neglected beside him. Much like the otherworldiness of its owners, Caras Galadhon exuded an air of magic with the earthiness of its color palette, wooden furnishings, and the elegant wrought iron arches buttressing the ceiling. Losing track of time was easy under its roof, as Thranduil could attest of many afternoons and evenings spent curled up in an out of the way armchair with a book, a drink, or a thought.

"They say they're Irish, but I'm convinced they're aliens."

Bard snickered into the last of his sandwich, chasing the bite down with a gulp of water. "Why aliens?" Thranduil raised an eyebrow at Bard, then turned his gaze toward the counter at the far end where Galadriel stood chatting with a man, willowy and fair-haired like her. "I mean, look at them -- that's her husband and my yoga instructor, Celeborn, by the way -- they're like three aeons old apiece and they look that fucking good. It's unfair, it's what it is." Thranduil had expected Bard to laugh, but not as hard as he was, gripping the edges of the table with both hands. Other patrons were beginning to turn around in search of the commotion. "That joke couldn't have been _that_ hysterical," Thranduil mouthed shortly after a swallow of his tea, eyes darting toward the periphery of his vision in search of prying gazes.

"Are you serious?" Bard's glee threatened to overcome him again, but he stuffed it back down with a deep breath. "I'm sitting with the most breathtaking man in this room -- hell, one of the most breathtaking in the bloody _world_ \-- and he's complaining about how unfairly pretty other people are. How am I not supposed to find that funny?"

The tea was already cold, but the blond drank it anyway, hiding his face behind the porcelain once more to avoid addressing Bard's comment. Like hell he was going to be caught turning red like some starry-eyed bride on her wedding night, let alone by the likes of Galadriel and Celeborn. Their benign sense of approval was just embarrassing as Tauriel's shameless fawning, anyway. 

**[ Saturday ]**

"How do you even make pancakes with no eggs? What about butter?" Bard scratched the back of his head, eyebrows knitted in mild confusion. Even after last night's meal, he was still struggling to understand the mechanics of constructing entire meals without the ingredients he normally took for granted. Thranduil still seemed amused by his puzzlement, if his lips pressed into a thin line curling upward at the edges was anything to go by. 

"If I tell you, I'll have to kill you, Mister Bond," the blond winked and pressed Bard backward onto the bed with a hand on the photographer's chest, pinning the chuckling man under the splay of his fingers. The brunet groaned out his satisfaction when the blond straddled him, covering him in a thick waterfall of gold and delicious body warmth. Bard welcomed the weight above him, arching into the press of skin and opening to the indulgent, messy kiss Thranduil lavished upon his mouth and throat. "Now, get in the shower while I get that breakfast started, yes?"

"But I'm so warm." Bard draped his arms over Thranduil's back, rubbing and scratching at the smooth expanse of skin. The blond extricated himself from the tempting embrace regardless, but not without exacting another kiss from Bard's willing mouth. He tasted like Thranduil's mouthwash and his stomach growled like it had hyenas in it.

"You know what else is warm? The water in the shower." the model asked as he bent down to pick up Bard's discarded boxer briefs from the floor by the door and put them on, uncaring that they hung loosely from his narrower hips. Under Bard's dark, appreciative gaze, Thranduil's blood heated and sang, but he forced himself to leave the room, lest breakfast be waylaid by another bout of enthusiastic undressing.

* * *

The sound of a key turning in the front door lock startled Thranduil out of chopping up shallots. Other than his brother, only Haldir had a key for emergency purposes and he had yet to call about the world ending. "Wasn't it Wednesday?" he muttered under his breath, turning down the heat on the potatoes before stepping away from the stove with the knife still in hand. That door shouldn't have been opening this early, or revealing Legolas' beaming face, at least not according to his previous calculations.

"'Las! You told me Wednesday, what happened?" The elder blond pulled his brother inside one-handed, holding the knife well away from their bodies while he held Legolas against him in a fierce hug. God, how he'd missed that carefree laugh tickling against his cheek. No missing limbs, no jaundice, no signs of illness -- just Legolas, smiling and golden and so achingly sweet. The knot Thranduil carried in his gut in the younger man's absence came apart under the onslaught of relief and the roaring of joy inside his skull. "Oi, I can't breathe!" the younger man wheezed dramatically, shoulders shaking with his amusement at his brother's baffled expression still plastered on his face. "I was counting on you being asleep, so I could sneak in and surprise you with breakfast, but you beat me to it, by the looks of it."

Right, breakfast. Thranduil could only hope Bard was wearing something before coming out to the kitchen. Shit, who should he warn first?

"Listen, 'Las," Thranduil began, following after Legolas in nothing but the underwear his brother had not commented on, but Legolas was distracted by Gimli's welcoming meows at his feet. "'ello, friend!” his brother swept the fat little fluff ball of a cat off the ground and rubbed cheeks with the snub-nosed creature, cradling him against his chest. "Did you miss me? I missed you, my little dwarf." The heart-warming picture Legolas made holding his ugly little pet stopped his thoughts dead in their tracks for a moment too long. Despite the grumpy constitution of his face, Gimli looked almost happy in his human's loving arms. "Hm?" Legolas canted his head and focused his attention on Thranduil, waiting on what the older man meant to say. The model's lips parted, but he was back at square one, struggling to organize his words into some semblance of explanation.

"Can I get my pants back or do I have to fight you for 'em?" Bard's voice in the bedroom echoed loudly enough to reach the kitchen. Blood rushed to Thranduil's face as fast as Legolas' grey-blue eyes widened, mouth agape with the beginning of incredulous amusement distorting the 'o' of his brother's lips. So much for warnings now. 

"I meant to tell you I had company," the model mumbled against the palm covering his face, feeling even more naked now in Bard's burgundy boxer briefs. At least the underwear covered the garden of fresh bruises blossoming along his groin and the insides of his thighs. Gimli butted at Legolas' chin and fussed in his arms demanding more affection, but the younger blond made no move to acquiesce, caught between the hilarity and the awkwardness of catching Thranduil bringing a lover home, after years of refusing to do so, out of whatever misguided sense of respect his big brother carried around with him -- like Legolas was still a child who shouldn't know those kinds of things.

"Then you may want to know that Tauriel's on her way here from the car park. She picked me up from the airport."

Thranduil's hand dropped limp to his side, leaving his burning face exposed. It was his turn to gawk. " _Shit._ " The model tossed the knife in the general direction of the sink with a loud, jarring clatter and took off in a sprint toward the bedroom, nearly crashing into Bard at the threshold in his rush to find clothes. "Whoa, darling," Bard's hand shot out to steady Thranduil, but the blond had already disappeared into the depths of his closet. "What's --  _oh._ " Despite wearing his jeans, Bard felt entirely too under-dressed for standing in front of a handsome, long-haired stranger studying him from head to toe with a familiar set of inquisitive blue eyes, but within the intensity, there was mirth? "You must be Legolas," the brunet tried for casual nonchalance, offering the young blond a sheepish grin and a hand to shake. "I'm--"

" _Ohmygod_ , Bard?" Came Tauriel's voice from near the front door, a feminine giggle rushing through parted, laughing lips. The redhead closed the door behind her and came to stand by Legolas, exchanging a look with the newly arrived blond, then settled once more on the shirtless brunet with the unbuttoned jeans and the faint trail of hair along his chest and down the flat, mildly defined plains of his middle. The photographer's hand floundered for a moment, then stupidly waved a hello at the newly-arrived woman. What the hell? Thranduil hadn't said anything about guests coming over, but from the man's mad dash for clothes, he hadn't been expecting anyone either.

"I ought to make more pancakes, then." Thranduil grumbled as he emerged from the bedroom dressed in loose drawstring pants and a soft cotton shirt, holding in his hand another t-shirt, which he handed to Bard with a barely audible whisper. "If she sees the state of your back, we'll never hear the end of it." Thranduil slid past the brunet quickly, then, marching back into the kitchen to escape Tauriel's furtive sounds of conspiratorial excitement while Bard and his brother exchanged a more proper introduction now that the photographer was clothed and less stunned by the unexpected arrivals. "Bard, have a seat, yes? Tauriel, you go set the table and stop ogling Bard, and you," Thranduil gestured to Legolas, seizing his chance for a relatively more private conversation with his brother, "you can help me since you were going to make me breakfast anyway."

* * *

 "How come you didn't tell me about him?" Legolas asked softly while he crumbled tofu with a fork and tossed it into the hot skillet with the rest of the chopped veggies and seasonings. Alongside him, Thranduil flipped a whole grain pancake and gently pressed it down, keeping his eyes cast down to watch it fluff up as it cooked. "I was going to tell you when you got here, quite possibly over dinner," the elder brother began, then paused briefly to add the pancake onto the growing mound on them on a plate beside the stove. "And certainly not with company."

"You could've just told me you were seeing someone, silly. It's a good thing, y'know, I'm glad." The model rolled his eyes, much to Legolas' amusement. Although not mocking, his brother's gentle chiding left Thranduil feeling mildly stupid, as he often did when it came to things the model found unreasonably complicated to articulate. "Unless you're not really seeing him -- he's not an escort or a dirty little secret, is he?" Thranduil's eyebrows lowered into an indignant frown, a mirrored contrast to Legolas' brow lifting with gleeful mischief. The pancake Thranduil was in the process of lifting out of the pan receive the brunt of the model's empty annoyance instead.

"I'm going to pretend that didn't just come out of your mouth while you try not to scorch that tofu, yeah?"

 Even as a facetious, harmless remark as he knew his brother had meant it, the notion of Bard being some sort of indiscretion Thranduil was trying to keep under wraps tasted sour in the blond's mouth. No money could buy Bard's warmth or the genuine pleasure that powered the brunet's smiles, nor would anyone in their right mind want to deny involvement with that kind of tall-dark-and-wholesome. But how could he begin to explain the greed he felt when it came to the photographer, the unwavering wish to hoard all things Bard without it sounding just as distasteful as assumptions like shame or sham? Thranduil didn't have to wager bets to know it wasn't _normal_ to withhold all details from those who meant him well and wanted his happiness (as he had been doing), but admissions refused to come near his lips, even if he was tempted to let them come forth. Not yet, at least. Too soon to tell where it could all go, even if it had been going well thus far. There was always room for surprises, either good ones or not so much.

Besides, was it really all that criminal to want to enjoy Bard alone before the private knowledge became public and everyone snatched bits and pieces of it upon finding out? Well-meaning or not, the curiosity of others felt more intrusive than it had right to. It always had.

"Oi, fire-drake," Tauriel piped up behind the brothers, attempting to rest her chin on Thranduil's shoulder, but only managing to dig the sharp point into the underside of a scapula. "Are you going to flip those pancakes to death or what? Dragon slaying's hungry work and your man looks starved." Legolas' ensuing laughter dampened the nasty comeback sprouting behind the older blond's teeth, reducing Thranduil to handing the redhead the heaping plate of pancakes and pointing at the island countertop where she could begin plating breakfast alongside Legolas. While his tormentors portioned the tofu scramble, purple potatoes, pancakes, and slices of cantaloupe, Thranduil watched the lone figure seated at the table, framed by the light coming from the windows behind him and offering an open smile the blond eagerly drank in while Tauriel and his brother had their backs turned. Thranduil only wished he'd been able to spend more time admiring how organic it felt to see the dark-haired man at his table, letting the two cats playfully bat and nip at his wiggling toes underneath it.

So much for his plans of sharing his private world with Bard, but all in all, the morning could always be more awkward, alone or not.

**[ Sunday ]**

"So, have you been carrying that torch since last year? Tauriel said he was the CdG photographer you wouldn't stop talking about." 

It was truly regrettable to have thus far avoided talk of the previous day's breakfast, only to have Legolas put _Broadchurch_ on mute ten minutes into the episode to pick up that conversation once more. Thranduil hadn't waited seven months to read David Tennant's lips while his brother made him sound like he'd been pining for ages.

"'Carrying a torch' -- are you listening to yourself? You sound like a granddad," the elder blond rolled his eyes and studied the tangerine wedge he'd been about to eat before popping the tangy flesh between his lips, thoughtfully savoring the sweetness bursting across his tongue. Thranduil itched to unmute the sound on the television, but Legolas wasn't going to let yesterday go that easily -- at least going by the fact his brother did not seem interested in anything happening on the screen. Legolas just watched him fuss idly with the jagged strips of peel in the palm of a hand as he ate wedge after wedge. "He's always been great to work with and talk to," Thranduil began carefully, "and then Tauriel went and mentioned he was single and I don't know, I pounced and gave him my number. He's just so different from the kind of people I'm used to being around, how do you not prod that a little bit to see what the bite is like?"

A single, soft sound of amusement tumbled forth from Legolas in a long exhale as he shook his head, smiling fondly. Some things never changed with his big brother, did they? That 'pouncing' couldn't have been at all subtle, by the younger blond's calculations. "What _is_ the bite like? I mean, you were wearing his underwear and cooking for him, so he must be truly something," Legolas finally let out a laugh despite Thranduil's grumpy muttering. He'd always tried not to upset his big brother's sensibilities about privacy, but a seminude lovers' breakfast hadn't been exactly his expectation upon coming home to him and Gimli. "Sorry," Legolas nuzzled Thranduil's shoulder and touched his forehead to the older man's temple, "I just... I haven't seen you bring anyone home in years." Thranduil bristled briefly, but relaxed against the slender arm draping about his shoulders. The model tucked his face into the crook of Legolas' neck and curled long legs under himself despite having the rest of the couch to stretch out on. "Seven years, actually, and we're just not going there."

"Fine, but what I meant to say was that you don't need to hide Bard, or anyone you choose to date -- it's normal to bring someone home, you know that. Even if it doesn't work out, it doesn't mean you shouldn't. And as far as Bard is concerned--"

"--What about him?" The model interrupted stubbornly, eyes still closed to force himself to listen to his brother's words; if he couldn't distract himself with the surroundings, maybe some of that wisdom could soften the mortar of his walls and get through to the center of his greed and the tender places beneath. 

"You were smiling at him, even with Tauriel fawning -- thanks for not drowning her in the coffee, by the way, " Legolas continued, "and the way he was looking at you? It was like you were his own personal sun." So he hadn't imagined the intensity of Bard's attention yesterday; those green eyes had found their way back to Thranduil over and over, even with the brunet engaged in conversations with Tauriel and his brother. Thranduil tilted his head back into the soft scratching of Legolas' fingers at the base of his skull, biting the inside of his lower lip to keep from grinning over his brother's observation.

"You two seem to be doing well. Why hide that?"

"Everyone's sudden interest is a lot of pressure," the model complained, "It's only been a week and I can't have a goddamned conversation with any of my friends without getting a wink or innuendo -- even Galadriel was looking at me weird the other day."

"You know they mean well, you prat," Legolas chastised him in a half-laugh, still scratching at Thranduil's scalp absently. "Besides, the more you keep Bard under quarantine at this point, the more everyone's going to ask about him. They just want to see you happy."

"I know." Thranduil sighed against his brother's shoulder and brought a hand to his lips, inhaling the lingering scent of fruit on his fingers. "It doesn't bother you that I brought him home, does it?" the model's voice was low as he asked. 

"I should be offended you even have to ask, Thran." A reluctant chuckle sputtered between Thranduil's lips against the warm, worn cotton of Legolas' t-shirt. It smelled like lavender soap and earth, like faraway places full of sun and mountains. "It's your home, too," the model mumbled and flicked a piece of tangerine at Legolas' face. His baby brother's sound of protest coaxed another chuckle from the model as their comfortable embrace devolved into wriggling and tossing peel bits back and forth at each other, filling the living room space with the mingled sounds of their laughter. On the adjacent armchair, Galion eyed the brothers warily through a sleepy, half-cracked eye while Gimli dozed away the hours under the coffee table, undisturbed by the noise and motion.

"How many times must I remind you that you're not Adar," Legolas rolled his eyes, but his smile was wide and fond as he picked bits of stringy pith from Thranduil's now messy hair. "It's not like you're bringing a new mummy home and I'm going to throw a fit." 

" _What_ ever, you ingrate."  Years later, it still wasn't Thranduil's most brilliant retort to that old point of contention, but it was a familiar one to the younger man -- like his brother's half-hidden smiles, the edge of exasperation when he couldn't hide behind sarcasm, his continuous efforts to protect and care for Legolas, to garner his approval in all things. It was something that remained unchanged despite the years, indelible like Thranduil's lion-hearted dedication to Legolas' happiness. Maybe his big brother would learn not to sacrifice his own happiness in the process one day, in the near future perhaps.

"And just because I'm home doesn't mean you can't bring him here if you want to, you hear?"

"We'll see if you're still singing that tune once the noise has kept you up."

Tangerine peels flew yet again, heralded by the silvery blond cursing and his golden half muffling a snorted laugh into a throw pillow.

* * *

**[from St. Bard; 19:46] hope your tv night with your brother is going well. :)**

**[to St. Bard; 19:49] We've spent the day just talking. It's like the DVR gods don't want me to ever catch up on my bloody shows, but I can't complain.  What have you been up to today?**

**[from St. Bard; 20:15] has he got any fun jungle stories? i spent the day at childrens' museum with Rhi and the kids. tildy dressed me in grape juice a bit ago. could have used some company in the shower.**

**[to St. Bard; 20:21] Apparently the girls from the nearby villages fight over who gets to braid my brother's hair. Company? Feel free to use yesterday's raincheck this week. The** **bathtub has enough room for two.**

**[from St. Bard; 20:27] must be nice to have that many hairdressers available at any given time, haha. when are you going to L.A.? i'm free wed and thur. maybe we can test your bathtub space then?**

**[to St. Bard; 20:31] I'm leaving on Friday. Wednesday will work. How good are you with back rubs?**

**[from St. Bard; 20:40] you'll find out wednesday. ;)**

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Il faut que tu te lèves - (fr); you must get up/it's necessary that you get up/i need you to get up. Oui oui hon hon, raise your hands if you love Francophone Haldir.  
> 2\. _Shaah_ is a popular Somali tea spiced with cardamom, nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger, and cloves. It is absolutely delicious and aromatic, and whatever, it's totally something that goes with Galadriel's little weird cafe. Expect Caras to pop up again because who doesn't love a side of coffee shops with their AUs?  
>  3\. Unintended _Dracula Untold_ reference in there somewhere.  
>  4\. Yay for Bardlings.  
> 5\. Yes, let's laugh about precious Bard and the sauce.  
> 6\. I've had this 90% completed for like two weeks, but I've been working 6-day weeks for a while now, so I apologize for the delay and for the lack of beta.


End file.
